You've Been Chibi'd
by FullMetalCanine
Summary: When a spell from England misfires, it ends up turning Italy into a child, with no memories of his adult self. The problem? England doesn't know how to reverse the spell! Meanwhile, Italy keeps confusing Germany for Holy Roman Empire. Which, of course, is absurd. GerIta. HRE/Ita
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Hetalia, obviously. And yes, I do support the Germany = HRE theory.

"I swear I didn't mean to do this!"

"Then _Angleterre_ , prey tell, what were you trying to do?"

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

"I was...I was..." He stuttered.

France smirked. "You were doing what, _Angleterre_?"

England shouted. "I was trying to turn America into a child again!"

There was an awkward silence, then Spain said, hesitantly, "He did look awfully cute as a kid..."

"Thank you." England muttered.

America just looked confused. "Yeah, I know I'm amazing and possibly the most heroic person to ever exist, but why would that kind've magic—which I'm pretty sure doesn't exist—result in this?"

Everyone looked down at their small problem.

"We just have to wait until Germany gets here. He'll probably know what to do." Japan said quietly.

"Or," America yelled, "We could follow my amazing plan!"

England rested his head in his hands. "And what is your plan, oh glorious leader?" He deadpanned.

America blinked, as if he didn't actually expect anyone to listen to him. "My plan?"

" _Oui._ Your plan." France said.

"My, uh, plan! Okay, see, um...what we do is... Wait until Germany shows up!"

"I agree with America-san." Japan said.

China threw his hands up in the air. "That was your idea!" He yelled angrily.

"Hai. Thus I am inclined to agree with it."

Russia smiled. "You know how I would solve this problem?"

"How?" England said cautiously.

Russia's smile grew. "By killing it." He said happily.

The meeting dissolved into chaos.

* * *

Germany, meanwhile, was running as fast as he could towards the meeting room in a panic. His plane was late, he couldn't find his briefcase, Italy was nowhere to be found—everything that could go wrong, did. And now he was late.

He took a hard left straight into the meeting room and rested on the doorframe.

"Sorry I'm late..." He wheezed.

Almost everyone in the room looked at him as though he had grown a second head.

"Late...?" America echoed, before looking at the clock. "Oh my God! Germany's late!"

England and France, looking more like they were dancing or participating in...other activities than getting into a fight, both attempted to catch America when he fainted and ended up tripping over themselves and ending up in a rather...uncomfortable position.

Well, for one of them, that is.

"Ohonhonhonhon~" France laughed.

England punched him in the face. "Shut up, frog!"

"Guys! Can you pay attention!" America shouted. "You aren't taking this seriously!"

England and France both looked at him, then eachother, than back at America. .

They broke out in laughter. Wild, hysterical laughter.

" _Ohmondieuthatisrich!"_ France gasped.

Germany pushed past them. "Honestly, do I have to do everything myse–"

He stopped, mouth dropping open. He made a noise like a mouse being strangled.

"What...is this!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Seriously, I did not expect this many people to find this story...I already have two reviews, and it's been like, an hour or two.**

 **I don't own Hetalia.**

A younger version Italy stared up at him, wide, adorable eyes blinking.

America dusted off his suit and laughed nervously in Germany's direction "That, my friend...is...you see, it's...not my problem, is what it is!" He said quickly.

"What?!" England gasped. "Don't just—"

"Sorry dude, but you started this! I'll be back in a bit."

"America-san, where are you going?" Japan asked.

America gestured wildly. "I...there's...in...I know someone who can fix this!"

England sighed in relief, his enourmous eyebrows descending on his face. "Alright then."

"Give me a couple days, maybe a week..."

The other nations replied almost simultaniously. "A WEEK?!"

America shrugged. "Possibly more."

"America, do you have any idea what an impact this will have on the world's economy?!"

"Uh...no?" America said guiltily. "What impact?"

England blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, ah. I'm sure I have the notes here somewhere."

"This is why we should actually get things done at the meeting, idiots." Germany muttered.

"Wow..."

They all looked down at Italy, who had spoken for the first time since the meeting started.

Italy broke out into a smile. "Holy Rome, you're so tall!"

There was a silence, then a cough from France. "Oh, _mon dieu_ , it was hard enough telling him the first time...Ah, Italy...the Holy Roman Empire is—"

"No need to tell me where he is, Big Brother France, I can see him right here!"

France winced. "Italy..."

"Oh, Holy Rome, you don't have your hat. I sort've liked that hat..."

France waved his hand to get Italy's attention. "Italy, how about you sit..." He looked around wildly for someone other than him that Italy knew and found no one except England. "...With England."

"Okay!" Italy said complacently.

England looked down at him in surprise. "You don't seem very afraid of me.."

"Grandpa Rome conquered you like a million times." Italy informed him solemnly.

England's eye twitched. "Why you little—"

"Germany! Can a speak with you a moment?" France interuppted.

"Of course."

They walked out of the conferernce room.

"France...who is the Holy Roman Empire?"


	3. Chapter 3

Wow...I did not expect this to be so popular...not that I'm not complaining, of course! This story is going to be updated way more often if I'm constantly bombarded by screaming fans! By, the way, I still don't own Hetalia.

France sputtered. "Perhaps this is not the best question right now..."

"But Italy kept calling me Holy Rome. Who is he?"

"Well, you see, once upon a time...no. Ah, when a man and a woman love eachother very much...

that isn't it. In a far away land...that won't work."

France looked up at Germany. "Go ask Austria!" He said quickly. "He knows better than I!"

* * *

"He said you would know better than him."

"Of course, I always know better than him." Austria replied. "It isn't that hard."

"Now, you want to know about the Holy Roman Empire?"

Germany nodded impatiantly. "Yes, yes, I believe I've made that clear."

"He lived in my house, with Italy. He loved Italy—honestly it was more of an obsession than love, from what I could see. Poor boy got disbanded after a war with France."

Austria paused in his story. "When I asked to see his body after...they didn't let me. Said they had tossed it out a window or something equally disrespectful."

"But anway, Italy was devastated. He had spent ages after France told him making sweets and talking about how Holy Rome was going to come back and how they were going to eat them together. And then..." Austria trailed off.

"What?" Germany urged.

Austria looked down. "And then, one day, out of nowhere, he just...stopped. He never talked about Holy Roman Empire, he never made sweets 'for his return', he never even acknowledged his name. But Hungary took it upon herself to talk about him all the time."

Germany's widened. "Why?"

"She said, 'Italy will never move on if he doesn't accept this.' And she did succeed. Italy broke down, wailing and screeching about how life wasn't fair, and how much he wanted Holy Rome back. Eventually Italy got over him. Turns out he really did need that. He still visits his grave, you know."

Germany furrowed his brows. "I though you said you never found the body?"

"No, we didn't. We made one for him. But...I know some one who might have it, and would gladly tell you more."

"Who?"

"His older brother, Prussia."

* * *

Prussia stiffened. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Italy keeps confusing me for him."

"How?" Prussia asked.

Germany rubbed his arm. "He's...there's a...England did..."

Finally he just sighed. "Magic. Italy was turned into a child by magic."

"Well, there's your problem, West. You and him looked exactly alike."

Germany blinked. "Really? From how Austria talked about him, I just assumed they looked more alike than anything."

"Nope. You guys might as well be twins."

Prussia suddenly smiled wickedly. "In fact, you are SO similar, Italy never has to know you aren't Holy Roman Empire..."

"No." Germany said firmly.

"Oh, so you'll go up to a child and tell her, 'I'm not your best friend, your best friend has been dead for hundreds of years!'?"

That gave Germany pause. "I...oh, fine. I'll do it."

"Kesesesesese~! Of course you will!" Prussia laughed. "It was my idea!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you, everyone for the incredibly positive wave of reviews. I still don't own Hetalia, luckily for anyone who likes quality work. And yes, my headcanon is America doesn't believe in magic, but DOES believe in voodoo.**

England was getting quite tired of having Italy sitting on his lap, babbling about anything that came to his mind.

"...and Ottoman Empire never tried to mess with ME again! Ha!" Italy crowed excitedly.

England rubbed his eyes. "Yes, yes, yes." His eyes drooped and he began to nod off when—

"Engl—aaand!" America called. "I got the guy!"

England glanced up tiredly. "Where? And that was fast!"

"Wasn't it though?" America said proudly. "And—surprise!—the guy is me!"

"America," groaned England, "You know nothing about magic."

"Nope! But I do know about one thing!"

"What?"

"Voodoo!"

England blinked in confusion. "Say that again?"

"Voodoo! Geez, England, you really are an old man!"

"Shut up, moron..."

"Yeah, I'm older than he is!" Italy said sweetly.

America blinked. "Really?"

"Uh-huh! I'm older than Holy Rome, and Britannia, and you, too, whoever you are!"

"I...don't know what to say to that. No, seriously, what do I say to that?"

"Something like, 'Oh, how wise you are, Italy, and you look so young too!" Italy suggested.

America snorted. "You do look young, I'll give you that."

Then Germany walked in. "Ah, hello Italy." He said nervously.

"Holy Rome! You're back! I was getting worried, Roma!" Italy cried.

He ran over and hugged Germany's leg.

"Germa—" America started.

Germany shook his head wildly and pointed down to the child hugging his leg.

America nodded. He got it, obviously. "Uh, I mean, Holy Roman Empire. When did you get here?"

"Oh, I just came from Prussia's."

America sneezed.

"God bless you, America."

"Ah! Ahaha! Oh, oh my gosh! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA! You said it! You said the thing!"

 **Sorry for the short chapter, I'm going off to school. Don't worry though, I'll get another chapter out when I get home! I'm also sorry for the joke at the end. You must feel like a priest, because I'm confessing all my sins.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I am very, very, VERY sorry. It's been, what, three days? I am really bad at this writing thing, huh? With my infrequent updates...but I hope this chapter is worth it. Anyway, onwards! And I still don't own Hetalia.**

* * *

It turned out that America's plan didn't work. He had actually a pretty good knowledge of voodoo, but voodoo doesn't really cover this.

"Seriously, why did you even make this spell to be begin with?"

"You didn't try to throw my tea in any harbors when you were a child!"

"Dude, me rebelling wasn't just me growing up, it was because you were being unfair! Little me would have done it too!"

"...So what you're saying is, this was never going to work."

"Man, you have no idea how many times I have heard that sentence."

* * *

Italy was confused. He tried to act like maybe he wasn't, but he was. He couldn't tell England, or at least the weird, grown-up version of the England he knew, and he couldn't tell Big Brother France because he had disappeared to go to a Plot Hole Convent—I mean, to flirt with some women or something equally one dimensional.*

So, of course, he decided to let out his worries with Holy Rome. Or the handsome, strong, grown-up Holy Rome.

"Do you know what's strange, Roma?"

Holy Rome got that blush he always got when he was embarrased, spreading from his cheeks to his ears and almost reaching his neck. Why, he was so red you could even say he resembled a [word redacted to extreme clichéness].

"Ah, no, what Italy?" He mumbled.

Italy yawned in Holy Rome's arms. "You are older, England is older, Big Brother France is older—it's almost as if I fell asleep and didn't wake up until all of you were grown!" He gave a little laugh.

Holy Rome gave a laugh that almost sounded nervous. "That would be something!"

"Mmhhm...Roma, you got more muscley when I was alseep! I like it!"

Holy Rome made a cute little choking noise.

"But," Italy reached up a small hand to Germany's hair. "I'm not sure about the hair."

He messed up Germany's hair and smiled. "That's better."

"Though I wish I had your hat. Do you still have that?"

Holy Rome paused as if calculating his next move. "Ah...yes! Italy, stay right here, I'll go get it!"

* * *

"...And that's why I need that hat! Do you know where it is?" Germany asked urgently.

Prussia nodded. "Ja, ja. But I'll get it."

"Why? Is it guarded by traps? On the top of a mountain? In a volcano?"

"Actually, It's in the basement under my bed. But maybe I should think about a volcano..."

* * *

 ***I'm sorry, I actually like France. And that is why I cannot write him—I'll end up ruining him! Okay, let's say...what he actually did was try and get Über to be banned in his country or getting Fifty Shades of Gray a PG-13 rating.**

 **Sorry this chapter was so short guys. Again. I think I'll just post a lot of small chapters instead of some big ones. Bye!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Well, at least it was only, like, a week. But I have a (cough) bad (cough) excuse! I got springs on my braces and now my face hurts. But no one cares about that! So onwards we go!**

(deep-quote) " _If one is to be manly, you cannot say the phrase: 'Ta-da~' unless you are a Father, a theatrical performer, or gay as hell"_ (/deep-quote)

"Ta-da~" Germany said weakly, feeling a fatal blow to his manly pride. (Which one is he?)

Italy gave an adorable, high pitched laugh. "Roma! Your hat!"

Germany nodded. "Yes. My hat." How long could he keep this up? He had never even spoke to this 'Holy Roman Empire', and Italy had spent most of his childhood around him!

"Oh, Roma," Italy said, "You are still just as I remember you!"

Oh. That was surprisingly easy...

There was a clatter from another room and then some angry shouting from a very familiar Italian.

Seriously?

* * *

England was not having a good day. He had cast a magical spell, that went wrong, had been reminded of his endless defeats at the hands of the Roman Empire, had America laugh at him (that little brat!), and above all that it was a Thursday.

He never could get the hang of Thursdays.

And his day was made even worse by the personification of South Italy breaking down his door.

"What the f••k did you do to my little brother, you English heretic?"

"Ngh." England moaned. "Do I look like I have any bloody time for this?"

"Well, you better make some godd•mn time, you scone eating bast•rd!" Romano yelled. "My little brother is MISSING and he went to a meeting that had YOU in it and I KNOW you had something to do with it now WHERE IN THE NAME IN THE POPE IS MY BROTHER?!"

Oh dear. Well this is going to be very hard to explain indeed.

* * *

Prussia was visiting an old friend of his.

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing? By not telling him?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I just...I don't know what to do. I mean, I totally know that whatever I choose to do will obviously be the best decision, but...I..."

He swallowed.

"I could really use your help, old man."

Another silence.

There was the sound of dogs barking in the distance and the leaves on the trees rustled and fell.

Prussia smiled. "Thanks. I really could use more of your advice."

He could hear the sound of windchimes in the distance.

"Bye, Fritz."


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay. This is super, SUPER late, but I'm at a friends house, sorry. In other news, I was really busy watching the new episode of Doctor Who. Sorry! Anyway, onwards!**

"WHAT?!"

Germany jumped up in surprise, sending Italy, who was sitting on his lap talking, flying to the floor.

"Agh! Roma, don't get up so fast! That hurt!" Italy wailed.

Romano burst into the room with the look of someone who wanted badly to kill someone but only has a fruit basket. And Germany knew this look personally, because Romano was holding a basket of tomatoes with a murderous expression on his face.

"Get away from him you potato eating bas—" Romano froze.

He looked down at Italy, who was staring up at him with confused eyes.

"Veneziano? What in the name of—?" He trailed off, looking at Italy's confused and hurt expression.

Italy burst into tears.

"Who are you? Why are you yelling at Holy Roman Empire, and," tears rolled down his cheeks, "Why do you look like me?!"

Romano just stood there, dumbstruck. "Wha—"

"And also!" Italy continued, "Do I know you? Because you said my actual name and only Grandpa Rome ever did that—"

"Vene—" The other Italian tried to inturrupt.

Italy raised his hand in a 'shut up and let me talk' position. "And potato eating? Those things are an abomanation unto the lord!"

Germany gave a small noise of protest, which Italy noticed.

"Uh-unless Roma likes them, in which case they aren't really that bad, though I guess compared to my food they are kind've bad—"

"Italy." Germany said firmly. "Your brother is trying to talk to you."

Italy looked at him blankly. "Brother?" Then his eyes widened. "Oh! Brother!"

The Italian shifted his attention to Romano. "Nice to meet you! But you shouldn't get angry like that, it's bad for your skin!"

"Do you think I give a flying—" Romano recieved a glare from Germany, "uh, tomato about my skin."

Italy looked up at him solemnly. "You are related to me. Yes you do."

"Toúche, little brother."


End file.
